Page 3 of The Dark Lord’s Guide to Honeymooning (and Other Acts of Tyranny)

A savage chill ran down my spine like shards of ice sliding between my vertebrae. I stifled a gasp, clenching my fists until my leather gloves creaked under the pressure. Rage followed the pain, so vicious and foreign it made me dizzy.

For an instant, I had the insane impulse to make Nyx drop from the sky. This wasn’t the familiar possessive jealousy I’d felt before. This was darker. Hungry. Wrong.

The fury vanished as quickly as it came, leaving me feeling odd. What the hell was that?

Thorne’s voice broke through my confusion. “My lord, are you well?”

“Fine.” I unclenched my hands. “Just deciding which one of Auremar’s nobles to hang first.”

Thorne nodded, accepting this as perfectly reasonable.

Moments later, a rider galloped toward us from the road ahead. Thorne moved to intercept, exchanging brief words before returning. “Scouts report Lord Sebastian of the Northern Peaks is fleeing this way, pursued by about thirty Solandrian soldiers.”

Griffin let out a squeak and promptly toppled off his mule. He wheezed from the ground, the Doom Scroll clutched to his chest. “Lord Sebastian? Here?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You know him personally?”

Griffin coughed and then grimaced in pain. “His scones are legendary, and his treatise on nonviolent conflict resolution was quite revolutionary. Though I heard his poetry is dreadful.”

I turned back to Thorne. “The name is familiar.”

“He was on the list,” Thorne said simply.

Ah, yes. The man who’d invited the Bone Witches to a solstice ball.

“I wonder why they’re chasing Sebastian,” Arabella said.

I turned to her, brow furrowed. “You know him?”

She looked equally surprised by my question. “Of course I do. But how do you know him?”

An awkward silence fell, broken only by Griffin’s pained groans as he tried to untangle his long legs. Thorne waited patiently, his gaze fixed on the road ahead as if the fate of this scone-loving lord was just another Tuesday.

“He was… considered,” I said carefully. “As a prospect.”

“What prospect?” Arabella’s eyes widened before a slow, wicked smile crossed her face. “Sebastian was on your kidnapping shortlist?”

“Griffin suggested him,” I said quickly. “When we were exploring options.”

The enchanter was now attempting to haul himself back onto his mule, trembling with what seemed to be a mixture of hero worship and a craving for baked goods. “I merely pointed out his qualifications! Heroic bloodline, significant magical potential, excellent culinary skills.”

“Griffin,” I snapped. He flinched. “I believe the local forest is brimming with giant spiders and glowing moss. Perhaps you should inspect those phenomena firsthand.”

The enchanter’s face went from pale to a sickly green. “No, my lord. The safety of the group is… highly preferable.”

Arabella looked from Griffin to me, fighting a smile. “You would have hated Sebastian.” She lowered her voice. “He snores.”

I made a strangled sound of surprise. How did she know such an intimate detail? Red hazed my vision, my mood twisting from warm contentment to murderous craving. I’d have Thorne save Lord Sebastian from the soldiers just so I could kill him myself.

I was silently listing creative means of execution when I caught the glimmer of mischief in Arabella’s eyes.

I shot her the darkest scowl I could muster. “Not funny. A joke like that could get someone killed.”

“But your murder face is my favorite face.” She leaned in closer and gave me a heated look. “Well, second favorite.”

Thorne cleared his throat, reminding me we still had a choice to make. Still smiling, Arabella turned to him. “Bring Lord Sebastian here safely.”

I glowered at them both for good measure. “And deal with the soldiers pursuing him. I want the commanding officer brought back for a chat.”